Month: March 2006

Before I get down to it, I have to thank Pat and the folks at DC Blogs for this. Also, of course, I have to thank all of you for contributing and commenting on the Breakup post. Very cool.

Changing Gears…time for another letter.

Deep breath. Okay. I’m okay.

Things I liked about our second date last night: Sitting by the window in the restaurant with you. Touching your hand. The fact that that your hand touching mine is enough to make me boil over with excitement and anticipation. Being that couple on the corner who everyone else screams, “Get a room” to. Knowing that we have planned two more dates. Telling me you wanted to see me “again and again and again.” You being my first phone call this morning. Feeling like we were the only people in the restaurant. Feeling like we were the only people in the city. Feeling like we were the only people anywhere.

Feeling alive. Feeling so incredibly alive. Remembering this feeling from long ago.

The GW Parkway was closed this morning and I was at a standstill for over an hour before I turned around and found an alternate route to work. Not once in the hour and a half in the car did I become raging mad. I smiled the whole way to work. And thought about you.

This sun rose this morning over Washington D.C. but it was shining only on my face.

Velvet

Here they are folks. Looking at all of yours, mine really aren’t as good as I thought they were. (Though, I did dump someone once on this blog. Do I get any points for that? Anything? How about when I threw a turkey sandwich at the MotorcycleInstructor? Ok, I’ll stop now.)

• You are out of quarters. This game is over. (Velvet. Haven’t used it. May never use it.)
• Don’t call me, don’t look at me, don’t think about me, don’t even think about trying to talk to me ever again. (Velvet, to high school boyfriend.)
• I just deleted your numbers out of my phone.
• Talking to you has become a pain in the ass. (DCOE)
• I’m gay. I’m joining the military. So I can be with men. (Requested Anonymity)
• Guess who called me today? Your wife. (My college roommate actually said this to a guy and yes it was true.)
• I was thinking, I don’t really want to be in a relationship right now. I thought I did, but I don’t. And I know you do, so it’s not fair. (Asian Mistress)
• or a similar one from: I thought I wanted a relationship, but I think I am just not the relationship type. You know, I am probably never going to get married or have kids or anything.
• Think very carefully about the next words you are going to say to me, because they are going to be your last. (Velvet. I’m dying to use this one.)
• You are an amazing girl. If the timing were any different, I know we could be together. But, the timing isn’t right.
• I have been in love once before and had my heart broken. It took me a long time to get over that. I don’t think I could ever put myself in that situation again. I think I could fall for you, so I hope you understand that it’s better to end this now.
• My ex-girlfriend is pregnant with my child.
• When we were trying to work things out, and you said, “My pizza is here, I’ll call you right back,” I knew at that moment you loved me less than that pizza and that was all I needed. (Sadly, this is me. Yes, I said it. It’s the line that ended a 6 year relationship.)
• Did you dump her yet? (MappyB heard this one from her boyfriend’s friend who was on his cell. Volume peeps. Volume.)
• “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore. Sent from my Blackberry Wireless.” (This is my joke with my boss, who when he asked me how my weekend was after the NewJersey breakup, laughed as I said the above. NJ didn’t really send it from a Blackberry, but this world is certainly coming to that. I’m sure it’s bound to happen to someone.)
• And, NotMiranda was dumped with a note on her car. He loved her but they had just hurt each other too much at the beginning of the relationship…”the time we spent apart was painful and [I am] almost physically ill from nerves right before seeing me.

Shit. And I thought an email dumping was bad.

Dear BH:

When I was walking to meet you at the bar, I was shaking. I was so nervous that I tripped on my shoe as I walked by Lauriol Plaza. I think someone in line laughed at me. (Sure, I may have tripped, but in an hour I’ll have forgotten about it and she’ll still be waiting for a table at the most overrated restaurant in Dupont Circle.)

When I walked in, you were staring at me. I was staring at you. You had a drink waiting for me. Did I tell you how unbelievably sweet that was? I didn’t? I’m not so slick. Sometimes I forget to say simple things like, “Thank you.”

I tripped again trying to sit at the table. As we were talking, thoughts flooded my head – the anticipation of receiving an email from you…shaking when I’m near you…biting my lip when I think about kissing you…knowing that it’s true when they say that the last guy bailed because something better really was around the corner.

The length of time we have been emailing has been a very slow procession to an eventual meeting. The length of time you hovered at my lips before kissing me was the proverbial slow dance of this friendship so far.

We left the bar and went to your place to watch a movie. At this juncture, with just about any other man, I would have been protesting to stop unbuttoning my jeans. It would be an aggravating time where the guy would see my coming back to his place as a definite signal and me wondering why “let’s go watch a movie” doesn’t really mean “let’s go watch a movie.” I say what I mean and I mean what I say. But I digress…

Then I fell asleep. For two hours! You cleaned the bathroom. You read a New Yorker. You watched me sleep. When you woke me up, you told me what you busied yourself with, while I slept. I laughed at the prospect of you cleaning the bathroom. You said that you wanted it to be clean for me if I used it. You said I looked like an angel when I slept. An interesting dichotomy from my other persona.

I sleepily got in a cab and went home. We talked on the phone. You wanted to know when you could see me again. I asked when you would want to. You said, “In an hour.”

That hour is up. I have a date with someone else tonight and I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know at all. I’m back to biting my lip.

There’s something else – You make my heart race.

Kisses and couch naps,
Velvet

Update – 2 hours after I posted the above. I got the following email from CL#6 regarding tonight’s date: Hey, you’re going to hate me, but I’m going to have to postpone tonight. I’ll tell you about it later.

Ladies and gents…fate is a mysterious thing.

See the title? I forgot to tell you that that’s what the Ukranian blog thief told Bilious Pudenda about me. I have to say, I like that. It certainly is in competition with my other taglines. Let’s not forget from S, “Velvet is so hetero. Being around her makes me more hetero.” There’s another one I hatched that has the words Master Dater and Master Bater in it, but my favorite grad school professor is reading now, so I have to behave. Well, at least a little.

I still don’t have a name for Craigslister #6, but the email volley is in full force. He’s really pushing this forward. He’s insisting that Saturday is going to be a long night and that we are going to have chemistry and he just knows it. Ugh. Dating is hard. Listen up you little Craigslister #6! No one knows anything about chemistry until they are actually in the same room together. Shit, at this point, let’s bag the same room stuff and try for the same zip code.

On to cheery Velvet Family News. I’ve had the topic of marriage come up with both of my parents in the past week. First my dad got on my case.

Velvet: I’m making my yearly Roth-IRA deposit.
Dad: How much?
Velvet: The max. I’m creeping close to the salary cap and I’m not sure how much longer I have to contribute.
Dad: Well, you better get married, then you can continue contributing.
Big sigh from Velvet.
Velvet: Dad, I’m not going to get married just for the sake of getting married. He has to be everything I want and more. And if I don’t find it, I’m not going to settle.
Dad: That’s understandable. I agree with you.

Then Mom strikes. It’s obvious they had a “When-is-Velvet-going-to-get-married” conversation recently. Mom says something about getting married and I got frustrated with the oh-so-obvious fact that I’m clearly a concern for them. I said, “Mom, I told Dad the other day, it’s not that I’m not out there. Believe me, the blog keeps my ass out there. But, I’m not going to settle for someone who isn’t right for me.” Instead of letting it go, she started in on how I’m not looking in the right places.

Wait, Craigslist isn’t where I’m going to find a wholesome Greek husband? Really? What about match.com? AA? BDSM club? The Ukraine?

Then she said something about how she dated so many men before she found my dad and I was like, “Please! You were married for eight years by the time you were my age! NO ONE has dated more men than I!” At this point my brother, who had been on the extension, quietly hung up. I suppose he realized he was next on the chopping block. Smart move, older brother, smart move.

I’ve got a busy weekend planned, but parts of it are remaining off-blog for now.

Finally – a call for submissions. I’m compiling a list of the best breakup lines. If anyone has anything good, send it in. Let’s see where this takes us. Email me.

You’ve probably read about this on other sites, but a bunch of bloggers had their material plagiarized by a Ukranian man who stole material via RSS feed. That’s why mine is off. Sorry. You’ll have to do the linking thing or whatever, but I don’t want my blog on some random website without my being given the chance to approve it or not. Anyway, I filed a complaint with Google AdSense because the guy was making money off our content. And some drain on Google’s payroll decided to forward my WHOLE FUCKING COMPLAINT to the Ukrainian. And since they requested my contact info, yes yes. Now I’m getting threats from the Ukranian. Believe me, if I end up dead, my family has been instructed to visit the folks at Google for a cup of coffee and a lawsuit. Larissa got this article written. Good work girl!

The date with the baby Craigslister didn’t happen. It seems that he decided he wanted to do something on a night when I didn’t have my morning gym commitment. He didn’t want me to worry about not being able to drink, falling asleep, getting home, yawning. Whatever. Anyway, we decided to bag it until Saturday. Which sucks because I have plans for the next two weekends solid. I sort of wanted to be lazy and do nothing this weekend. My parents are coming next weekend (hide the porn.)

Anyway, the Craigslister (#6 y’all!) sent me texts and emails today saying that he expects big things to happen with us, that he knows he already likes me, blah blah blah. The funny thing is, that he’s like an online dating novice. I’ve been through this a thousand times where you think “this one could be different” and nope. You still end up running home. So, we’ll see.

Someone who shall remain nameless referred me to another online dating website that I had yet to post and ad with. My first and only response was from this guy. Brace yourselves. Seriously.

At least I know he likes babies. And when this mofo says, “I’m so hungry I could eat an arm,” he’s probably not kidding either.

You all will be happy to know that Velvet’s back in the game. I’ve had a very productive weekend with the girls and frankly, I’m ready to get back to the boys. (A little too much estrogen if you get my drift.)

I’ve been harboring a Craigslister on the back burner for weeks now. Basically since the end of NewJersey, that pompous arrogant motherfucker, I’ve been talking to a very nice boy. Anyway, I have yet to come up with a name for this one, but he’s five (count them) five years younger than I am. I’ve never dated someone so young. We’re going out tomorrow. So there will be a date update hopefully Wednesday. It’s almost April, and I’m way off pace with the dating as compared to last year.

In other news, I had my fabulous tattoo added to last week. Now I have half a back of artwork. Nice. But it itches, so if anyone has a scratching post they can drop by my house, that would be greatly appreciated.

This past weekend I reached a point of drunken debauchery that I haven’t seen in ages. And I mean, ages. Just know that when I drink, I get so ballsy. I’m like a more fun version of myself, but this was bad. I managed to steal a drink from every poor schlub who came up to the bar to order a round, thereby ensuring we would continue to drink for free. Then when that got old, I started tossing the bar garnish fruit around like peanuts at a hoedown. An olive landed on someone’s shirt, and he just picked it off and ate it, as if his shirt was a natural place for an olive to hang out. And two more olives made their way into some man’s pocket who had backed his ass up to us at the bar. Olive Tapenade when it’s made inside someone’s pocket? Yum.

I’ve had some other issues with my blog being plagiarized and used to make money, but it’s so not even worth talking about some man in the Ukraine with a tiny penis so I’ll let it go.

Bye bye Blogger. For I will miss your constant outages and that notorious “flag” button that has been utilized by one too many anonymous bloggers resulting in removed posts and deleted blogs.

Please update your links. Bear with me as I get all your links added back in, as well as those of you who link to me and think I don’t know who you are! I see you!!! I’m going to return the favor!!! I promise.

www.velvetindupont.com

All right. I took a break from the topic of the week. Back to the stories about single life in Connecticut and New York.

I worked at a sports bar in lovely downtown Stamford. Since I was a mere 20 years old, and unable to go out drinking for New Years Eve due to my fake ID that just fell out of a Cracker Jack box, I took a shift at work. I figured I would make decent cash. It wasn’t a bad decision.

A bunch of loud, obnoxious guys came in. I waited on them for the entire night, putting up with their abuse and such. Finally, they paid their bill but for some reason decided to rip my tip (a $20 I think) in 1000 pieces, on the table. Drunks. Sooooo frustrating.

Another waitress sees this and starts yelling at them. She got an early start on the night at the bar and was already drunk by the way. They basically told her to fuck off and ran out the front door. But she decided to head them off at the pass. She ran through the kitchen, grabbing a big plastic beer pitcher from the dishwasher as she ran. She bounded out the front of the kitchen, right by the front door where our friends were zipping up their coats and high fiving each other.

First you heard a guy say, “OH SHIT!” Then you heard a thud so loud that the people in the far reaches of the bar looked up. There ends up being a massive fight, one guy holding another back from jumping on the waitress, and the manager finally tosses them out the front door. End of story. Back to work.

I got home late that night and went straight to bed.

The next morning my brother said, “Hey, come look at the front page of the paper. Three guys got arrested on the sidewalk outside your bar last night. Apparently they came out of the front door loud and unruly and bumped into some other people and it turned into a massive brawl.”

Uh oh. Oops.

I’ve got a mess of stuff today. Blogger Happy Hour last night at Pharoh’s. I wouldn’t say I’m anti-social, but much prefer the small crowd to the unwieldy one. When Rob realized I had arrived, he said to us, “I’m glad you came. I got here at 7:00 and it was just me and the bartender.” I said: “Yeah, that happened to me once.”

KOB also came by to say a few words and I shared my horrible story about my blog getting republished on some crap site who isn’t giving myself or many other bloggers the credit and links they so legally deserve. Then KOB told me that I’ve been prolific lately, and usually with a dating blog the writer ends up finding a boyfriend and the blog dies. I told him that didn’t seem to be a problem for me. And this morning I woke up thinking, “Shit, I couldn’t find a good relationship if I crashed my car into it.”

Talked to Martin and Joe. There were others but I’m lazy and I’m trying to go out to lunch so it’s quick. Then I trotted home. Fuck. Even that’s an outright lie. I didn’t do any such thing. I stopped at Esther’s house and drank a beer with her and the Queen of Quantity. They were present for the HornyHungarian from Chi Cha last week.

Finally, Bilious Pudenda is back on the continent and he’s up to his old torturous ways. Sorry to any and all who are offended by the lunatic. I’m working on getting him committed. It will be a while though, because the straitjacket I secured for this event was stolen by Tom Cruise’s people.

Here’s your next story from single life in New York. Before I begin, I want to tell you all who have linked to me that I know who you are, and once this blog is officially moved to www.velvetindupont.com, I am going to add all your links to the new template.

It’s 1997. A very young and naive Velvet is at a jazz club with a bunch of girlfriends in Stamford, Connecticut, just over the New York border. There are a few seats at the bar, but they are not together. Two girlfriends get seats together and Velvet sits around the corner of the bar and can still easily talk to the friends, but there’s a couple on the corner.

A bunch of men walk in to the bar. Unless you were living under a rock at the time, you would have immediately recognized the type in track suits, thick gold chains and crunchy hair as refugees from Long Island. They piled up to the bar, infiltrating any pockets of space remaining between myself and my girlfriends. They were on my left, they were on my right and they hijacked the bartender to feed them their Zima’s.

I’m not sure what happened, or how it happened, but the bartender signaled to the bouncer that these goons were to be tossed out. The bouncer immediately descended on the crowd and told them they had to go. Another bouncer arrived as back up. From my left, from my right and from behind me, punches were thrown. Track suits were manhandled. Gold chains were snatched. Crunchy hair came dangerously close to taking out an eye. Zima’s were spilled. The men were eventually ejected from the bar faster than trash gets dumped in the Long Island Sound. We all know that just because you are a wise guy from New York, doesn’t mean you can beat the ass of the Connecticut Ghetto.

After it was all over, the two bouncers came back up to me and asked me if I was ok. Somehow, I hadn’t been touched in the melee. I turned to my girlfriends, sitting just across the corner of the bar from me and asked, “I wonder why they came to ask me if I was ok?”

Nicole said, “Velvet, I don’t know how you remained unscathed in that massive brawl, but you did. I will forever have this vision, made possible by the spotlight from above the bar, shining directly on your head with everything around you one big haze in the darkness. You sat, surrounded by mafia-wannabes tossing punches with two giant bouncers as you sipped your gin and tonic, swaddled in your faux fur coat. Priceless.”

What did we learn from that story?

Sometimes Velvet is completely and utterly naive about danger on the left, right and in the back. And sometimes in front of her face.

Watching the Soprano’s last night tossed me into a massive series of flashbacks about what it was like to grow up in Connecticut just over the border of New York. We spent a lot of time in New York City as a family and I spent a lot of time there as a single gal. I have very few bad memories of life in and around New York. The older I get, the more I really start to miss it. I’m not packing my bags yet, but last night was the first time the thought entered my brain and stayed there for more than 32 seconds.

Anyway, until I wash this latest hare-brained idea down the drain, I’m going to tell some stories this week about what dating up there was like. Today, you get the story of Frankie Finesse.

My pint sized girlfriend J and I were at a very happening (at the time) club in Stamford Connecticut. After I had sufficiently sprayed my phone number from one end of the Terrace Club to another, we decided to leave. We fell out of the front door, smack into a white stretch limo. Two good looking men emerged from the backseat and invited us inside. The moronic 23 year olds that we were, we hopped in.

The window between the driver and the backseat was rolled down and the driver asked if we were all having fun. From what I could see in the rear view mirror, he was pretty cute. Next thing I know, I’m asking if we can drive the limo, and pint sized J is behind the steering wheel. The driver, Frankie, slid over and sat next to me. J spun that limo around the parking lot for a few minutes, we exchanged numbers, said our goodbyes and that was the end of the night.

Frankie called. Boy did he call. Over and over. I decided to go out with him. Since I was living with my brother at the time, I didn’t want him coming to my house with his freaking limo (apparently it was his business and his only car) so I went to his house, in the Bronx baby!!!

We go on our date, and his cell phone rings. Now, this would be a normal scene for anyone on a date in today’s time. But let me remind you: The year is 1996. Cell phones were the size of shoeboxes at the time. So Frankie is on his cell phone for the entire meal, acting as much Tony Soprano that he could pull off, wheeling, dealing, agreeing to pick up some big whig and drive him around with his hookers and strippers for the night. Every call he took, he smiled at me, and rolled his eyes as if to say, “This is what life with Frankie Finesse is like, all glory.”

I decided it was definitely time to go. Like, yesterday. So we hurried out of there and went back to his house where I could drop him off and get back to WASP-Land Connecticut and the safety of my parents house, where my brother and I were living at the time. Frankie asked me to come inside for a minute. I protested, but he said he had to give me something.

Funny as I’m telling this story, I look back and think that I would never go in this guys house now. But, ten years ago, whatever. He handed me a bouquet of flowers. It was really a mess of flowers, no one flower looking like the next. They looked wild if you asked me, but what the hell did I know? I’ve rarely been on the receiving end of flowers. I brought the mess home with me, plopped it on the kitchen counter and went up to my room. To do what, I have no idea. We didn’t have internet back then.

I hear my brother go bounding down the stairs, careen around the corner, stop dead in his tracks and start cackling like a hyena who just smoked a joint.

“WHAT IDIOT GAVE YOU THESE WEEDS?”

Normally my dreams are of the plane crashing, dogs dying, pulling super long snot out of my nose variety. But, you’re haunting me again. Whether you’re following me around London or I’m sneaking into your house, you are still haunting me.

This time, I was sitting in a cafe at the window, eating my lunch, alone. My cell phone rang. Even though your number is no longer programmed in my phone, I recognized it and answered trying to sound non-chalant. You couldn’t seem to clear your voice, and I couldn’t understand a word you were saying. Trying as hard as you could, you just couldn’t seem to get the words out and eventually I hung up.

Then you walked into the cafe and sat down next to me, explaining that you were calling to tell me you saw me through the window. You were much friendlier than I was used to. It was a change from your normally serious disposition. You said that you had broken up with your girlfriend, and mentioned something about getting together. I sat there, facing you, knowing that I have waited for this moment for over a year. I knew that I was at the crossroads, and we could go back, or we could forge ahead. You were waiting for an answer.

I said, “No.”

We gathered our things and left the cafe. As you crossed at the corner, I said, “It never would have been like I wanted it to be, would it?” You shook your head, turned back around and walked home.

I get it.

I feel dirty today. Not dirty in a good way though.

I’ve been writing to a handful of Craigslist men. I didn’t bother to mention any of them because, well none of them were worth mentioning. Well, until now.

One man I’ve been emailing asked if we could IM last night. So I hopped on IM and we talked for an hour. He lives in Herndon (holy shit Batman, that’s far!) is good looking, and he is also half Greek. So that last fact encourages me to continue the conversation, even knowing I could never be bothered to date someone who lives so far out.

On IM last night he mentioned something like, “Do you have any fetishes?” Le sigh. The warning bell went off in my head as I imagined this guy partaking in all sorts of sordid activity that would make my ears burn. But of course, glutton for punishment that I am, I prodded him to tell me what he was getting at. He asked me again. I said, “I’m about to turn 33. I lived with someone for 6 years. I’ve done what I’ve wanted to do, there’s nothing left undone for me in the bedroom.” Well, I’m sure there is, but not anything that readily comes to mind.

He begins this whole long painful story while I simultaneously talked on the phone with an old friend and texted another CL guy. I was the master of communication last night. Anyway, after beating around the bush for 20 minutes, he tells me he likes to be pinned by a woman, with her legs holding his arms, and her coochie in his face. Ok, he didn’t use the word coochie, that’s my word, but you get it. Then he launched a full on attack on my email inbox with pictures like this.

Well, I guess I’m done with him. Why are all the Greeks so weird?

Last night I walked the dogs around 10:00. A guy passes me, all bundled up, and after our dogs greeted each other, we continued in opposite direction while I mutter to myself that I think I know that man. I turn around, call his name, and he answers. It was the guy from the meeting – the one where I said I wanted to do very bad things to him. He was walking his dog. Alone. Looking very heterosexual. Still not wearing a ring. We talked for a couple minutes about business, then dogs. He said he would get in touch with me today. Anxiously waiting for that moment. NewJersey who?

Apparently I enjoy the torture dispensed by the folks at Craigslist. Check this out:

• Read your ad on net and can’t belive that I could find some one as kool as u in my life time. well what can i say today is my day …. hey could u plz hang for a sec ……………………………………… ok! I am back .. sorry had to take this phone call. ok so what i was talking about … god .. i think i need memory upgrade ….. ok ok remember now …. ur search is over, cuz iu have found me … i am looking 4 same … yeah i know u might have heard it alot from prety much all the guys but this time its real .most of the guys who say that are big drama creaters themselves .. no no no NOT me. well i found a very u upfront, straight, bold, honest and interesting person .. well not as interesting as i am but still interesting enough ..ok ok calmn down i am just kidding …..:) i have many good things to tell about me so not sure where to start .. how about this .. let me give u brief intro and if u found urself interested reply and we will go from there .. i am 32, single, drama free guy .. i am well educated, down to earth (was just kidding up there … happen to have bad sence of humor), easy going person.
  keep ambulance ready cuz i am sending u my pic. just incase u need medical assistance after seeing me .. no no not cuz i am ugly just cuz i am tooo cute …ahhahahah … cum on i just said i am down to earth … ok no jokes now … i am down 2 earth person and easy to get alone … just joke around .. hope u understand .. ok ok i know email is getting too long, so b4 u delete it even reading any further i let u go and will wait for ur reply

The rocket scientist never did attach that picture. I wrote back and simply said: “Are you SURE you’re well educated? I can’t make any sense of your email. Everything is spelled wrong, I can’t figure any of this out.” And I got this:

• thx for ur response … i am wondering if u r educated? yeah my spellings are messed up and run spell check is not my style … however u couldn’t make any sence out of it .. hummmmmm … wel that makes me wonder about ur credentials ….:) wel dear i am B.S in electrical and computer engineering and masters in information system … professional i work as an engineer for telecom company … may be my writting style is bit confusing to u … but thats what i am .. if u r still interested drop me a line …

Seriously. I was wondering how bad it has to get before it gets better. Shit. Spoke too soon.

• I am responding to your ad. I would like to meet up with you if it possible. I live and work in the Woodbridge area. I have a foot fetish. I am 5-10 tall and dark brown skin and 30 years old. Let me know if you interested

And the Velvet responds with: “You’re in luck. I happen to have not one, but two feet!” He hasn’t responded. Oh well.

UPDATE:

Here’s what I posted.

I’ve met you all. First there was “Mr. I don’t care that you are pushing me away, I’ll stick my tongue further into your mouth, and grope you.” Then I met “Mr. I will send you massive amounts of text messages at all hours of the day and night.” Then I met “Mr. I’m going to disappear for a while, but when I come back, I’m going to unravel and go crazy on you.” Then I met “Mr. I think this could really go somewhere but oops, I’ve changed my mind.” What is it with Craigslist? Is there anyone normal out there? Should I give up? Should I bag this whole idea and become a nun?

Is there no one out there in their 30’s who has the combination of integrity and decent looks? I’m not looking for Brad Pitt, I’m looking for someone, normal. Just normal. Calls when he says he will. Opens doors for me. Went to college. Eh, screw it. Maybe you’re not there.

The reason updating has been so slow is twofold. 1) There’s not a lot going on in the life of Velvet. 2) I’m trying to move the blog off blogger to the www.velvetindupont.com domain. It’s coming soon, but still working out the kinks.

Saturday night I went out with a new friend from the dog park. We hit the Local 16 / Chi Cha circuit. When we got into Chi Cha, we took a place near the back, with our drinks, and surveyed the crowd. It’s typical for people to not move through bars at breakneck speed. But I noticed someone walking through incredibly fast, as if he was looking for someone. He walked right past us, and I glanced up and realized I knew him. Not only did I know him, but I’ve dated him.

Enter the Horny Hungarian, stage left. When he realized it was me he was within five feet of, he took off like a rabid animal on red bull running from a gun pointing Dick Cheney. He took off right into the kitchen of Chi Cha, where he was promptly kicked out.

He had to come right back by me, and as he did he got right in my ear and said, “What the fuck are you looking at?” Oh boy. My friend said, “Did he just say what I think he did?” I confirmed for her. She asked why he would say that. I told her he’s perhaps the most ungracious of any men I’ve tried to end things with.

Horny Hungarian: So, want to get together again?
Me: I’m not really feeling this. I’m sorry.
HH: Well, why don’t we just have sex. A Friends-With-Benefits type thing?
Me (thinking he deserves credit for coming out and asking this instead of trying to manipulate it into happening:) No, because I’m really not feeling you like that.
HH: Ok. Fine. I won’t touch you. We can watch each other masturbate.
Me: Again. No.

At this point he became enraged and hung up on me. About as enraged as he seemed in the bar the other night when he got booted out of the kitchen. What a dick.

I’m sorry the posting has been sparse. I promise I’m not disappearing, or stopping the blog. I was tossed off the horse with this NewJersey thing and I’ve got no men in the hopper. I forgot to stock up for the lean times. Give me time. I won’t get boring on you. Don’t forget, there were many years of shitty dating before the birth of the blog. I have a few completely ridiculous things up the sleeve. Believe me.

Now, there are a couple things to cover.

That email response I got from NewJersey when he was answering my latest Craigslist ad – I forwarded to a friend. I would link to said friend, but I’m not sure that friend wants to be outed. It was NOT El Guapo, even though you all made that request. El Guapo is busy being guapo, I can’t be calling him for everything. Anyway, the friend handled it beautifully.

Response to NJ from fake email without original email attached: I didn’t think we would meet again, NewJersey.
NJ: Do I know you? How so?
Response: You were the one to answer my ad on Craigslist, NewJersey.

HA! Giggling over here. That’s pretty funny. He’s gone silent now. Guess he’s over there checking his dance card to see who it could possibly be. It’s petty, but it made me laugh. I’d laugh more if he would write back and then be sent on a date somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be what fate has in mind for this little prick.

Anyway, this week has brought a lot of interesting things into my life. This time without the distraction of men has really allowed me to get parts of my emotional house in order. Last weekend I went to see my Great Uncle M in South Jersey. It became apparent that someone was going to have to get involved in his medical care because he is having trouble understanding the nurses and doctor at the home. Since he never married and had no children, it’s up to the rest of us. Everyone seems to be doing a little part, but no one has become the advocate. My other Great Uncle (J) is incredibly busy with his own daughter, grandson and great granddaughter, so he agreed to let me share the Power of Attorney with him on Uncle M’s medical issues. I feel like I really have to get involved with this, because my poor Uncle M is so upset, and so unsure of what is happening to him. After I left, he called my parents and told them it really made him happy that I went to see him. It’s a long drive, but I certainly plan on doing more of it in the future.

With something bad has to come something good or whatever that statement is. After the demise of NewJersey, you all may have seen a comment on my blog from an obvious “ex-friend.” She realized I was hurting and decided to reach out. We had dinner tonight and I’m glad that we were able to rekindle our friendship mojo. We have a good banter, and it was awesome to know that we’re back from commercial break and it feels like nothing even happened to begin with.

I’ve been talking about me me me to my friends for the past three weeks with this NewJersey thing, and frankly, I was getting sick of myself too. While the loss is still very palpable, I’m angry enough about the way he handled it to know that I don’t miss the person underneath. I miss the idea. I’m coming around the corner at another birthday, and this is one I’m going to feel. I’ve never minded this non-stop dating before because I never wanted to set the circus down with one man before. But all of a sudden, during and after the end of NewJersey, I realized that it might be time for me. I want more. I don’t know how I’m going to get it, but I want more.